


Reindeer Games

by Shardinian



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Butt Plugs, Chains, Dildos, Dubious Consent, Edgeplay, Gags, I don't even know how to tag this, Multi, Orgasm Denial, Porn With Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Shibari, wtf did I just read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:22:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29650593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shardinian/pseuds/Shardinian
Summary: Now that Diavolo's learned all about Chistmas, he's.delighted to invite everyone from the House of Lamentation to celebrate with him, insisting, of course, that Lucifer and his brothers make a "Grand Entrance."Lucifer, merrily buzzed on a little too much wine, is more than happy to put on his Santa hat, hike up his sadistic bootstraps, and force his brothers to comply.And what an entrance it'll be - as long as Lucifer can make sure they all manage to come at the same time.
Relationships: Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/ Everyone
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	Reindeer Games

Lucifer's drunk. I know he's drunk, because he's wearing a cock-eyed Santa hat and an uncharacteristically mischievous smile when he knocks on my door.

The half-empty bottle of wine in his fist is a pretty good indicator, too.

“Come,” he purrs, as he grabs my hand before I can protest and leads me into the hall. “Diavolo has invited us to celebrate the holidays at the castle, and has insisted that we make a… hic! …a ‘grand entrance.’” He makes air-quotes around the word, then fumbles as he almost drops his bottle. “It sounded asinine, but I have had just enough merlot to conclude that it is, in fact, a marvelous idea, and I do not intend to disappoint.”

We're almost out the front doors before I get a chance to cut in. “Whoa, whoa! Shouldn’t I get changed or something? Where's everyone else?”

“Outside, waiting for us,” he chuckles, as he pushes through the doors. “We can't very well make a grand entrance unless we all come together, can we?”

The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow

Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below

As we round the corner of the House, I stop mid-step, and just… stare. I think my mouth is hanging open. My eyes must be as wide as dinner plates.

Everyone's out here, alright. Waiting for us.

Because they don't have a choice.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear

But a red, antique sleigh, parked on the lawn, perfectly suited for Santa Claus. It even has a regiment of improvised reindeer (buck-naked demons, that is, each sporting a headband of fluffy cotton antlers), all harnessed up and ready to fly.

None of them look very happy about it, though.

Beel is in the lead position. His bulging forearms are trussed together behind his back, so tightly that he could be holding his own elbows, and he's contentedly gnawing on the rubber bit that's been jammed between his teeth. The thick ring that's wrapped around the base of his cock is decorated with a huge, festive bow, leading the way like Rudolph's bright nose. Three drooping chains, two from his gag and one from the base of a firmly buried butt plug, (all decorated with silver sleigh bells, of course), are the entirety of the harness that's connecting the leader to the rest of the team.

Asmo's next in line, bound up in much the same way. His gag is chained to Beel’s in the front and Levi's in the back, and every time he shakes the snow out of his hair, the night comes alive with the tinkling of festive bells. His cock and balls are tightly bound in intricate shibari with a red velvet ribbon, rather than rope, and his whole neatly-wrapped package is tethered to the chain hanging from his little brother’s ass.

Levi, then Mammon, are next, both tied and gagged and chained together the same way as the others, and while poor Levi is blushing so brightly he could put Rudolph to shame, Mammon’s shibari ribbon is constricting a rock-hard erection that's bobbing against his stomach and making him moan like the self-serving masochist he is.

Lucifer, humming a drunken rendition of Jingle Bells over my shoulder, is taking off my clothes, but there’s so much to take in, and I'm so utterly dumbfounded by every last bit of it, that I cooperate without even realizing it.

The Anti-Lucifer Club is last, with both founding members bound side-by-side, squeezed so closely together that you couldn’t slip a Christmas card between them. They’re both being forced to bite down on a single, extra-long bit, so unlike the rest, neither Satan nor Belphie can turn his head to look around. Their butt plugs are connected together with a steel bar; the bar is chained directly to the sleigh. Their cocks are pointing at each other, painfully stretched and tied together with a single red ribbon, and the knot bobbing between them is another holiday bow, with a silver ring hanging from the bottom. The Anti-Lucifer club can move together, or not at all.

Satan's seething so fiercely that he's melted all the snow around his feet, and is the only one standing in a patch of soggy grass.

There's murder burning in little Belphie's eyes.

They're not hooked up to Mammon, though, because-

A violent shiver races up my spine to politely inform me that I am standing naked, outside, in the snow, in the middle of December; then Lucifer's hand is on my back, a few steamy breaths carry a bit of magic into the air, and it suddenly feels (to me, at least), as pleasantly warm out here as an August afternoon.

Then my interrupted thought makes it all the way to the end, and all the fancy magic in the world can’t stop my blood from running cold.

They're not hooked up to Mammon, though, because-

They're not hooked up to Mammon because there's one more place in line, and it's empty.

It won't be empty for long, though.

“And you can be Vixen,” Lucifer chuckles in my ear, as he pushes a thick, rubber bit into my mouth and buckles the network of straps closed, over my head, under my ears and under my chin, sealing my mouth around the gag.

I gasp and arch up on my toes as he pulls my arms behind my back and ties my forearms together, just like all the others, ending by lashing each wrist securely to the opposite elbow, leaving me able to do nothing cooperate, with wide and anxious eyes, as he takes my shoulder and marches his last little reindeer into place.

The bells jingle merrily as he chains my halter to Mammon's, then to Satan’s and Belphie's, leaving me stuck facing forward and with just enough slack to nervously side-step as he pulls a red velvet ribbon out of his pocket, holds it up to find the exact center of the length, and begins winding it around my breasts. The tightening coils squeeze my breasts together and lift them up, perky and plump and slowly turning purple, and by the time he ties another perfect, gift-wrap bow at the pinnacle of my cleavage, the pressure within has my nipples standing forcibly erect and hard and throbbing and begging, absolutely _begging_ , to be touched.

I groan in spite of myself.

Lucifer looks me dead in the eye... and winks.

Merry Christmas, little reindeer.

He leaves me like that, with the decorative ends of the ribbon loose and hanging over my nipples, just close enough to sweep and brush them with warm velvet fingers every time I move. With a shuddering moan, I arch my back in a vain attempt to… what? Get further away from the merciless stimulation? Or closer to it? I don't even know; all I know is that I suddenly can't stop squirming, much to Lucifer's obvious delight, and those barest whispers of friction against my hyper-sensitive nipples are swelling a new and desperate throbbing between my legs.

“Mmmm. There's a good girl,” he purrs, as he slides a finger up between my naked lips so I can better appreciate how wet and slick and eager I am. Rather than penetrate me, though, he scoops up every last drop of liquid gold on his fingertips, and uses it to lube up the tip of the plug that he's already easing up against my asshole.

I hold my breath and try to consciously relax every muscle between my navel and my knees, anticipating that my ass is about to swallow a plug as big around as his fist, but I barely feel a thing, just a delightful tickle and a slow, steady penetration, even when the flared base is pressed firmly against my cheeks. It’s so thin, in fact, that I don't understand how I can possibly keep it from sliding right back out again – until he shows me.

The narrowest part, just above the base, stays thin and comfortable, but pump after pump after pump, the rest of the plug inflates inside me, until my ass is packed so full that I could squeeze until my eyeballs burst, and never force it out.

The dildo comes next, in exactly the same way; what feels as thin as a pinky finger on the way in expands, and widens, and swells with every pump until it's taking up all the free real estate I have; until he's packed ten thick inches into my squeezing vagina, and the feathered extension curling away from the base is firmly cradling my clit.

The feeling of being stuffed from both ends, of being filled so full that I can all but feel the plug and dildo rubbing together inside me, leaves me squirming up on my toes and blushing furiously at each drop of eager wetness that drips down the inside of my thigh.

He chains my dildo to Mammon's butt plug and my own plug to the ring hanging between Satan and Belphie's cocks, pats me on the head, then christens me with a headband bearing my own pair of bobbing cotton antlers.

And, just like that, I am officially one of Lucifer's reindeer.

Now Dasher

Now Dancer

Now Prancer

And Vixen

A yank on my bit catches me completely unprepared; it staggers me backwards, along with the rest of the helpless team, all grunting and gasping and groaning, as the sleigh lurches under Lucifer's weight as he climbs aboard.

On Comet

On Cupid

On Donner

And Blitzen

…Nothing's happening. The hollow sloshing from Lucifer's bottle gets lighter in pitch every time he takes a drink. The smell of a rich, mellow cigar wafts through the air. The snow crunches under our feet as we nervously shift our weight; the bells tinkle lightly whenever one of us tries to look over his shoulder to see what's happening back at the sleigh.

Then it starts.

It starts at the front of the line. I can't see that far, but I can certainly hear Beel's baritone moan, rolling long and low across the snow, and the abrupt jangle of bells that revs Asmo up next.

Beginning with less a moan than a throaty, satisfied ‘Mmmmmmm’, the second in line performs like he's being paid by the minute, filling the silent night with delighted gasps and breathless whimpers. Whatever’s happening up there, the Avatar of Lust is savoring it like hand-fed bites of the richest, darkest chocolate, melting on his tongue and sliding, warm and thick and wet, down his throat; every sensual note that slips through his gag promises the rest of the waiting team something sensual, something dark and deviant and erotic - until Leviathan looses a loud, startled cry, and changes the tone entirely.

His whimpers are desperate and uncomfortable, almost panicked, and the unmelodic cacophony of bells jangling around him sounds like he'd be running for the hills, if he could move more than a foot in any direction.

Mammon goes next. Out of nowhere, he arches up on his tip-toes and throws his head back; his fingers curl and his arms bulge against their restraints, and out of all of us, is the only one willing to debase himself by garbling a barely comprehensible plea through his gag.

_Mmmm… oh fuck yeah_

_Let's do this shit_

_That’s… mmmm yeah, that's it, right there_

_You know what I like_

_C'mon, Luce_

_I need it deeper, you know that_

_I need it harder_

_Fuck me, Luce_

_Fuck me harder_

_Fuck me **just like that**_

I'm next in line, and any trace of confusion about what's happening evaporates in an instant. My dildo starts vibrating, both where it's buried in my gut and where it's pressed against my clit, then my butt plug follows suit, and goddamn if Lucifer doesn't know the one setting that’ll ensure I can’t last longer than a minute. The vibration isn't monotonous; it begins each pulse as a tickle, then steadily ramps up to an aggressive, powerful buzz that sends pulses of erotic electricity pumping through my clit and straight into my toes and the backs of my eyes, then stops.

Then it starts all over again.

I squeeze my thighs together and grind my teeth against my bit; I can't stand still but I can't go anywhere; all I can do is take tiny, hobbled steps side-to-side, dancing on my toes and shamelessly moaning as the stimulation humming against the muscular walls of my clenching vagina and gut takes me right up the edge, again and again, always stopping just short of pushing me over.

A duet of angry grunts and jingles behind me tells me that the matching pair of swelled plugs buried deep inside Satan and Belphie’s asses have just roared to life, mercilessly stimulating both of them at once and leaving the hobbled pair struggling to coordinate their involuntary twitches and spasms. I can just see the distraught pair over my shoulder – and I watch, hoping to distract myself, but the X-rated show only makes my clit ache more urgently.

Lucifer, lounging comfortably, has our reins clasped firmly in one hand and his bullwhip in the other, but rather than using its vicious tip to get his team moving, is tickling the steel cracker over the back of Satan's neck, then across the divet above Belphie's tailbone, then over their arms, and fingertips, then smacking playful little taps against the bases of their plugs. Satan hisses and Belphie groans, and my gut throbs insistently at the sight of their cocks swelling in reluctant unison, as the expertly-woven finger-trap ribbon binding them together stretches to accommodate a pair of unwilling hard-ons, until their swollen heads, dripping with slick precum, are rubbing against each other and forcing them to keep mercilessly stimulating each other, even after Lucifer’s moved on.

Mammon suddenly groans, clutches at nothing and thrusts his hips forward; the chains between us snap taught and tug hard on my dildo, pumping it, then my plug, as far out as they can pull, before my throbbing muscles clench and suck them right back up again. My stutter-step forward transfers the tug straight back to Satan and Belphie, too, tightening the bindings around their cocks and driving the tethered pair to gasp and grunt and recoil, yanking me backwards and again heaving an inch of swollen, dripping rubber in and out between my pussy lips and sliding the base of the plug over the most ticklish outer rim of my asshole.

The chain-reaction snaps chain after chain taught, all the way to the front of the line, pumping butt plugs and squeezing swollen, aching, rock-hard cocks; and whether its Levi's startled jerks or Asmo's eager pumps or Mammon's aggressive thrusts as he tries to drill his plug straight into his prostate, every one of us can feel everyone else inside him, pumping and grinding and pounding away in a desperate desire for self-satisfaction, until everyone's moaning, and tugging, and pulling on everyone else; nobody's touching each other but somehow everyone's fucking each other, but if the intermingled groans of frustration are any indication, nobody's finishing.

Every time my legs get weak and my abdomen starts to clench, when my eyes roll back and my breath seizes in my lungs, my toys stop vibrating, and leave me miserably squirming in a vain, pitiful attempt to climax.

Every time Mammon’s shoulders hunch and his breathing gets hard, he clenches down… then relaxes with a shudder, and whines with undisguised disappointment.

Lucifer is toying with us, watching his reindeer puppets dance at the end our of jingling strings, and like any professional driver should, knows which studs to drive harder, and which to rein in; he's flicking us on, and back off again, anytime we get too close to cumming, edging seven of us at once and chuckling as his whole team is left moaning and sweating and squirming and prancing in place, desperate to fly.

“You can all cum when we get there,” he chuckles. “And not a second sooner. If Diavolo wants a grand entrance, he's damn well going to get it.”

The gunshot crack of a bullwhip tears through the soft, downy night, and with our teeth and our cocks and our cunts and our asses, we _pull._

And I heard him exclaim, ‘round a carol of steel,

“Make me look bad and I'll fuck you for real.”


End file.
